


cherophobia

by mxlia



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 22:30:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11000346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mxlia/pseuds/mxlia
Summary: You just couldn’t shake the feeling that this would end in tragedy.Bucky Barnes x Reader





	cherophobia

**Author's Note:**

> well this is a whole ton of angst because apparently I hate joy  
> cherophobia – fear of being too happy because you think something tragic will happen soon  
> symptoms include: trembling, anxiety, panic, dread, and rapid heartbeat

It’s beginning to smell like winter. 

The breeze that blows through your hair carries a biting edge, and you shiver underneath your wool overcoat. Crossing your legs, you readjust your perch on the edge of the fountain and pull your hat more snugly over your ears.

Central Park is quiet this time of day, with so few people around. Beyond the reaches of the trees, you can just barely make out the muted sound of traffic and early morning pedestrians. Behind you, the fountain splashes merrily as you drag a finger through the water, watching the ripples dance across the surface. 

Someone takes a seat beside you. You pull your hand from the fountain, eyes darting up to meet those of your boyfriend. He’s smiling crookedly at your actions, eyes dancing with amusement. 

“Hey,” you greet him, your breath escaping in a puff of white. 

“Hey yourself,” Bucky replies. One arm comes to wrap around your waist, and you nestle closer to him, grateful for the additional warmth. 

A few beats of silence pass before you crane your head up to look into his eyes. “You said you wanted to talk to me?”

He nods, and you don’t miss the way his expression sobers. “It’s about the Army.”

He doesn’t need to continue, for you already know. “You got drafted,” you breathe softly. 

Another nod. The arm around your waist tightens slightly, and you tilt your head to press your lips against his jaw. His stubble tickles, but you don’t pull away. 

“Where are they sending you?” you mumble after a few quiet seconds.

“Camp McCoy,” he murmurs. “In Wisconsin.”

You finally pull away, and the chilly air is a stark contrast to his warm skin. “That’s a long ways away.”

Bucky lets out a long, low sigh. “I know.” 

You lean back on your hands, breathing in the crisp New York morning. A bird twitters to your left, invisible amongst the dense trees. A few withered leaves cling stubbornly to the skeletal branches, but most of them are already crushed on the cobblestone ground below your feet, rustling with every stray movement and gust of wind. 

“You’re upset,” Bucky says after several minutes. It’s a statement, and you’re not surprised that he thinks it to be true. 

“I’m not,” you tell him, knowing he won’t believe you. 

Your dark-haired boyfriend turns toward you then, grasping both your hands tightly in his. “It won’t be for long,” he says, his words tumbling out in a hurry. “I promise. No more than a year. And I’ll be back for the holidays in a couple months…” 

You silence him by pressing your lips to his, and he returns the kiss eagerly, hungrily. All too soon though, you’re pulling away again, distancing yourself before he can take it too far. You meet his gaze, see from the look on his face that he’s looking for reassurance, for words of comfort telling him that you love him and will wait for his triumphant return as a soldier. But you can’t bring yourself to say those words, even though you know that they would make him happy. 

“Have fun in Wisconsin,” you tell him.

~

Four days before New Year’s Eve, there is a knock on your door. You pad over to it quietly, twisting the old brass knob and wrenching the heavy wooden door open. The figure standing there is achingly familiar, with a crooked grin and piercing blue eyes that you haven’t seen in months. His shoulders are dusted in light, powdery snow and a smile threatens to work its way onto your lips as you reach out with a trembling hand, your heart beating out a frantic rhythm against your ribcage. “Bucky,” you breathe, his name leaving your lips as light as air.

He is through the doorway in a second, his fingers curling around your hips and tugging you to his chest. You run your hands along the lapels of his uniform, clearing it of any snow before settling your arms around his neck, your head resting against his shoulder. The steady rise and fall of his chest calms your heart, and you allow yourself to enjoy how delightfully warm he is against you. “I’m back,” he murmurs. 

Snow is falling outside, fat white flakes spiraling down to the ground. You watch it fall for a few moments, willing your heart to stop its frenzied beating, before speaking again. “I missed you,” you confess. 

“I missed you too.” Bucky’s lips find your cheek before finally seeking out your mouth, and the kiss is as soft as a snowflake landing on your lips. Your fingers find the short brown hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, and you feel his grin widen more than you actually see it. “Do I get to kiss you again on New Year’s Eve?” he mumbles against your skin.

Your lips finally tilt up into a warm, genuine smile. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

~

Bucky leaves for Wisconsin three days after New Year’s, and this time, he is gone for almost a year. When he shows up at your doorstep again, the days are already starting to grow shorter and colder, and you can smell winter in the air as you open the door. He stands there with a smile and his hat tilted at a jaunty angle, and your heart quickens at the sight. Your eyes meet, and he holds your gaze with such fervor that you’re forced to look away.

“You said no more than a year,” you murmur. 

Bucky steps through the threshold and shuts the door behind him. “All this time, and that’s all you have to say? That’s cold, {Name}.” His hand seeks out yours, and you allow him to twine your fingers together. “Besides, I only missed the year mark by a couple days.” And it’s true. Bucky had left you in Central Park exactly one year and two days ago for Camp McCoy. His free hand tilts your chin up, and you shiver under his penetrating gaze before asking the question that has been plaguing you ever since you laid eyes on him. 

“Are you back for good?” you ask. 

He hesitates, and dread pools in the pit of your stomach. 

“Bucky…” you start to say, but he cuts you off. 

“I’m shipping out the day after tomorrow,” he admits. 

The twisting feeling of dread in your stomach worsens, coiling like a venomous snake. You lick your lips nervously, your mouth suddenly dry. “Where?” The question escapes you in little more than a whisper. 

Bucky’s grip on your hand tightens. “England.” 

You smile weakly even as your heart leaps into your throat. “That’s a long ways away.” The last time you said those words to him feels like a lifetime ago.

His smile is humorless. “I know.” A beat of silence. “But, look, I won’t be in England forever. And I’ll be here for all of today and tomorrow. Why don’t we go dancing?”

You swallow, hard. “Dancing… sure. Dancing sounds good.”

He grins crookedly at you, a hint of his old cheerful demeanor shining through. “We can go to that little diner you like too. Whatever you want.” 

You can only nod, wishing that you could share his optimistic attitude. There’s a part of you that is truly happy about Bucky’s return, a part that wants nothing more than to spend two perfect, blissful days with the dark-haired soldier. But another part of you, the part that dominates your psyche, is afraid. An insistent, nagging little voice in the back of your mind croons darkly at you, weaving tales of treachery and deceit, and you just couldn’t shake the feeling that this would all end in tragedy.


End file.
